Threat of Suffering or Death
by Channel D
Summary: A gruesome package is delivered to NCIS. Who is behind it, and who is the threat aimed at? Multi-part drama/case file. Written for the NFA Smiley challenge. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Threat of Suffering or Death**

**by channelD**

written for: the NFA _Smiley_ challenge. Selecting a smiley (emoticon) from a given list, the writer then has to write a story about that smiley. I chose the evil grin, which here represents _threat_.

rating: K plus

genre: drama/case file

- - - - -

disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

_All violence consists in some people forcing others, under threat of suffering or death, to do what they do not want to do. _~ Leo Tolstoy

- - - - -

**Chapter 1**

"See, we gets all kinda mail in here," said Isaiah Browning as he lifted one box after another onto the mail desk. "Big boxes, little boxes, envelopes of all sizes. Supplies. Forms…_tons_ a' forms. The gov'ment can't run without its forms. Even though lots of the agents do mosta their work on the internet now. Still a lotta paper forms. An' they all come through this room right here."

"And you have to open all the mail yourself?" asked Lydia Stolt, a shiny new intern at NCIS. She was starting her first week at HQ seeing how the various jobs went. Isaiah was a little old-fashioned and corny, but the old man reminded her of her grandpop, so she couldn't help feeling some affection.

"Heck, no! The stuff that's already labeled as to who gets it, I just send on. Let 'em open it. There's lotsa letters addressed just to "special agent" and the like. I just dump them on the squad room and I guess they open them there. This ain't like some a' the fed'ral agencies I worked at, the ones where money comes through the mailroom, where mail is a big security thing and a member a' management opens it all. Nah, we got little of value here. So I can open it or not, as I see fit. Now take this here box…" It was a cube, about 18 inches in dimensions. "…All she says on her is 'NCIS' with the building's address. From one of them next-day shipping companies. So I gotta open her to see what department gets her."

Isaiah cut the box open carefully, and then undid layers of wrapping while Lydia watched intently. "What the…?" He stepped back. Lydia gulped and then covered her mouth to ward in the scream. She was a Criminal Justice major and would have to get used to stuff like this.

"I'd say," Isaiah shrugged, and taped the box back up. "I'd say this is meant for Forensic Evidence. 'Attention Abby Sciuto'," he said aloud as he wrote on a interdepartmental routing label, which he taped on the box. "Do you want to deliver it?" he asked Lydia.

- - - - -

"Hi. Lydia, right?" Abby greeted the intern with a smile. "You can set the mail on that table. Oh, and I get a box today, too? Cool." She was already back to what she was doing and didn't really notice the young woman's pallor.

About 15 minutes later, Abby opened the box.

That was the start of the chaos.

- - - - -

"Jethro! Jethro! I need you down here _immediately_!" There was screaming in the background, behind Ducky's urgent request. "And the Director, too, if he's there with you. He's not in his office."

Gibbs turned sharply toward the video phone, which was broadcasting from Abby's lab. That was Abby doing the screaming; he was sure of it. "On our way!" he said, already running. Vance was a step behind.

It was pandemonium in the lab. "Abigail! Abigail! Take it easy!" Ducky was saying to the weeping, thrashing woman. A couple of NCIS security guards stood by, looking helpless.

"Interesting," said Jimmy Palmer. He stood off to one side, looking inside a box that was on a table.

"No…no…no…no…no…no…no!" Abby keened.

"You need to get the mailroom," Ducky said over his shoulder to Gibbs and Vance. "Find out where that box came from."

"What's in the box?" asked Vance.

"Abigail, I'm going to give you a sedative. I really think it will help you."

"This is just so…" Jimmy said mildly, ignoring the others.

"No! No! Make it not be real, Ducky! Please! _Make it not be real!!!"_

Gibbs and Vance reached the box at the same time, and looked inside it. Vance swore and jumped back, almost knocking Gibbs over. He ran to a work sink and threw up.

The box contents had Gibbs riveted. His heart tried to burst through his chest, and for a moment, he felt faint. He put a hand on the table to steady himself.

Inside the box was a severed human head.

The head of Tim McGee.

- - - - -

Jimmy, wearing gloves, poked at the head, kneading the skin. "Abby!" he called. "Beeswax."

"_Aha!_ That's what I have been _telling you_, Abigail! It _isn't_ real. It's a clever fake. A wax museum-type head. Yes, that would make sense. A wax head."

"A fake?" asked Vance, looking at the head anew, though still appearing sick. But he closed his eyes again and turned his head away.

"You thought it was _real_, Director?" Jimmy said with a laugh, which he then swallowed under Vance's and Gibbs' cold stares.

"You were sure it wasn't, Palmer? How?" asked Gibbs.

"Well…my family always liked going to the wax museums when we traveled, so I know a bit about wax figures. I've touched a few. And when they put in the hair, did you know that they do it one hair at a time? This has clumps of hair inserted." He looked happy in his knowledge, and rapped on the eyes, ignoring the grimaces of the others. "Glass. Good match on the color."

Vance stepped aside to call the mailroom on his phone and demand Isaiah Browning's presence. He then turned to Gibbs as a thought occurred to him. "McGee _is_ okay, isn't he?"

"He's been out sick this week with a bad cold."

"When did you last talk to him?"

"Um…day before yesterday."

"This is a threat," Vance indicated the box. "I don't like it when my people are threatened. Drop your other work, Gibbs. This is your top priority."

Gibbs nodded, and turned to go, when Tony and Ziva came out of the elevator with Isaiah Browning firmly in tow. "We were just coming back in from break, and HR asked us to escort Isaiah here," Tony said. "He was a…little reluctant to come. What's going on?"

"I didn't do anything, Agent Gibbs! You gotta believe me! I thought the box was meant for Miss Sciuto! Honest!"

"You opened a box with a severed head, and didn't report it to anyone?!" Gibbs snarled.

"I thought it was evidence! So nicely wrapped an' all! Ain't it evidence?"

"A…severed head? Someone sent Abby a severed head?" Ziva said wide-eyed.

"She likes skulls, not whole heads," said Tony. "Where is it?" He approached Gibbs and the box.

"Don't, Tony!" Gibbs cautioned. But it was too late.

Tony gaped and swore, likewise was sick, and cried before Jimmy could reassure him that the head wasn't real.

"Someone is sick, sick, sick," Tony said, wiping his mouth. "Why the hell would anyone do that?!"

"To make us afraid. For McGee; maybe for any of us. But for the moment, assume McGee."

"Go pick up McGee," Vance directed Ziva and Tony. "Safe house #2 is available. Take him there, and wait with him until I can get a protection team there."

Gibbs felt anxiety growing. _I haven't talked to McGee in two days._ He pulled out his cell phone and listened to the ringing on the other end. _Pick up, McGee. Pick up…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

- - - - -

Tim slowly raised his aching, stuffy, fevered head. His phone was ringing. He reached across the bed to his nightstand and grabbed it. _Gibbs. Huh. _"Hello…" he said, a fit of coughing then seized him.

_"McGee, get up. DiNozzo and David are on their way to pick you up. Pack a toothbrush and clothes for a couple of days."_

"Boss?" Tim's ears buzzed. _He can't be expecting me to come to work!_

Gibbs repeated himself. _"They'll explain when they get there. In the meantime, don't open the door to anyone else."_

- - - - -

After hanging up, Tim stretched and wondered if he'd have time for a quick shower. No, he didn't have enough energy to move that fast, if Tony and Ziva were already on their way. Maybe they'd wait for him while he showered? Probably, but he'd have to put up with some jokes from Tony. And maybe there really wasn't time to spare.

_HQ must be desperate if they need me in this shape,_ he thought as he looked at his pale face and red eyes in the mirror. A quick sponging down would be the best he could do. Then he folded and placed some clothes in his duffel bag, feeling exhausted with every step. _I have to sit down,_ he thought. He was glad he'd boarded Jethro at a kennel for a few days, knowing he wouldn't be able to give the dog the walks that he needed. He closed his eyes…

…and woke when the doorbell rang, and there was a pounding on the door as well. "McGee! Are you ready?"

"Coming!" he croaked, then said it louder. On unsteady feet he got up and opened the door.

Tony grinned. "In just a few days, you turn into a mountain man!"

Ziva felt Tim's beard stubble with a sly smile. "Perhaps you should let it grow out."

With a slight eye roll, but not feeling too put out by Ziva's flirtatious comment, Tim only said, "I've been too busy being sick to shave. Do they really need me this badly at NCIS?"

"NCIS? No. Rockville, yes," said Tony. "I'll carry your bag, McSicko, and we'll explain on the way."

"Rockville?"

- - - - -

Rockville, Maryland was not all that far from Tim's home in Silver Spring, Maryland, as the crow flies. By Metro it would be a nuisance trip; the towns were on opposite ends of the red line "U". But they were driving, and even in moderate traffic, the trip took less than 20 minutes.

Tim was surprised when Ziva pulled into the driveway of a nice but unremarkable-looking house that was partially hidden by trees and shrubs. "Safe house #2? What are we doing here?"

"_We_ are not doing much of anything," said Tony. "_You_ will take your cold germs and go to bed like a good little agent."

Ziva laughed and explained the situation to McGee. "It will not be so bad, McGee. You will have a whole house to live in. Better than an apartment, yes?"

Only part of it had sunk into Tim. "I'm being protected," he said, dully, as Tony opened the car door for him and gave him a hand out. He was feverish again.

"It's better than having your head sent somewhere in a box," Tony pointed out.

- - - - -

At NCIS, Gibbs watched as Abby and Jimmy worked in the lab. Abby was still too shaken up to look at the wax head, so it was Jimmy who was calmly paring off pieces of it for analysis.

"Put a rush on it, Abbs," Gibbs said. "Need to know whose prints are on it, where it was made, who sent it."

"I know, I know; 'McGee's life may depend on it'," Abby said with a slight whimper. "Did he get to the safe house okay? Can I phone him?"

"Yes and no, in that order. Ziva has reported that he went right to sleep. You can talk to him later." He ignored Abby's pout.

- - - - -

Tim awoke at a pleasant scent wafting toward his stuffy nose. _Soup._ He opened his eyes to see Agent Kirkwood standing beside his bed, holding a bed tray with soup, a sandwich, and tea.

She smiled. "Here you go, Tim. This is good for you, so dig in."

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, Amy…"

"I raised four kids. The mommy in me likes being useful."

"Have you heard anything more on the case?" Tim asked, blowing across a hot spoonful of chicken soup.

The agent shook her head. "Abby Sciuto is analyzing the head. That's all I've heard. Gibbs will be coming out to see you later this afternoon, so be sure to look sick."

Tim laughed, which sounded as peculiar as his cold-cracked voice did. "I think he'll believe me."

Kirkwood turned serious. "Tim, I do a lot of protection details. It's most of what my partner and I do. This one has me concerned. All that trouble to make up a realistic-looking wax head and send it to NCIS—does someone want you dead, in a big way?"

"I don't know," said Tim, trying to think. "I just don't know."

- - - - -

Abby had some results. There were fingerprints on the beeswax belonging to a Julia Geiger of Alexandria, Virginia. The box contained many fingerprints; too many. It had gone through several hands at the shipping company, most likely. Inside the box there were none, other than Isaiah's and Abby's. The sender had covered his or her tracks well.

Tony and Ziva, now back at HQ, went out to find Julia Geiger in Alexandria—only to be told by her daughter that she had been in South America for two months. Ms. Geiger was an artist, and had indeed done wax figures, although that was not her main line of work. She hadn't done one in over two years, however, said the daughter, as she pulled out the studio's records.

"What was the last wax figure that your mother made?" asked Ziva.

"No name attached," the daughter said, frowning at the invoice. "Figure of a man, 6' 1", about 28 years old, brown hair, green eyes…there should be a picture that she went by, although sometimes customers just give generic descriptions…Ah, here we go."

Tony and Ziva both felt chills. Not only was the picture of Tim, but it was a close-up, from out in the field. The top of his NCIS jacket was visible.

Someone had stalked him.

- - - - -

"This is _way_ off the creep-o-meter scale, boss," Tony said when they were back at NCIS. "Someone started planning to do in McGee _years_ ago!"

Gibbs frowned. "But they haven't. Yet. All we have is a threat."

"The person who ordered the wax figure made paid cash," Ziva reported. "That is not how Ms. Geiger prefers to do business, but it was a slow period for her, so she agreed to it."

"Who ordered it?"

"A John Smith," Ziva coughed. "Yes, I know."

"Where was it sent?"

"It was not sent. He had it picked up."

"No address, or contact information?"

Tony looked up from his computer. "Address is bogus. Phone number was a trac phone; number now out of service."

Gibbs felt his frustration growing. "Keep digging. Work with Abby. There's got to be something!"

"The wax figure was ordered on January 17, 2006. I'll check our files for people McGee put away before then," said Tony.

"And I shall cross check with people recently released from confinement," said Ziva.

Gibbs nodded. "I'm going to go talk with McGee, Keep me informed."

- - - - -

Tim was sitting propped up in bed, his eyes closed, when Gibbs entered Tim's safe house bedroom. Soft jazz played on the radio. "McGee?" Gibbs asked quietly, and Tim opened his eyes.

"Tony said to be sure to show you that I was sick," Tim grinned, and then sneezed.

"I'd rather see you sick than dead," said Gibbs. "McGee, do you know who could be behind this? Anyone who might be seeking revenge? Anything, even minor, that you never told us about?"

"I can't think, boss," Tim admitted. "My head's too stuffy."

"Did anyone ever say to you anything about getting revenge? In any words at all?"

"Well, sure, boss. But I've reported every instance to you when it happened, just as you told me to do. It's all on file."

Gibbs stifled a sigh. He had no doubt that Tim had done just that. _Who, then…?_ "Did you ever witness any threats made to DiNozzo or David that they didn't report?"

"Well…I don't know. They didn't say to me that there _wasn't_ something they weren't telling you. I don't think." Tim put a hand to his head, and wondered, briefly, if the beeswax head would feel better. "Are you saying that you think the threat wasn't aimed at me?"

"I don't know, McGee. Someone went to a lot of work and expense, three years ago, to create a likeness of you. Why? Why you? Give it some thought, and call me if anything comes to mind."

"Okay, boss," Tim said, taking a drink of water. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Get some rest. Right now that wax head looks healthier than you do."

- - - - -

With Gibbs' team investigating the supposed threat, another team at NCIS was doing the field work. When Autopsy was summoned with them to the scene of a murder, Abby was without an assistant. Normally, that was fine by her—having had a poor track record with regular assistants. But she still couldn't bring herself to look at the head that looked so very much like Tim's, so she pleaded to Vance…

…who sent her the only person he could spare: the new intern, Lydia Stolt.

Lydia hadn't even met the real McGee, so the wax head didn't spook her at all, now that she was assured it was just beeswax. She was happy to follow the instructions that Abby gave her from across the lab: a sliver of this, a snip of that. She even removed, without a murmur, one of the glass eyes for examination.

"Huh. That _is_ McGee's eye color. Or very, very close to it, anyway," Abby murmured, before lshe ooked away for a second. She didn't like "Tim's" eye looking at her like that. "Do you have that slide of the hair sample ready, Lydia?"

"Yes, here it is, Ms. Sciuto."

It was well-positioned; perfectly done, just as all the other samples Lydia had prepared. "You are on the verge of becoming a regular Mary Sue, do you know that?" Abby said, smiling.

"Ma'am?"

"Never mind. Do you like working here, Lydia?"

"It's…different. Interesting. Yes, I think I do like it."

"You want to work here some day?"

"I…I think I might, yes. I still have two more years of college, though."

"Well, you probably want to be a special agent, then. Everyone thinks that's the sexy job, and maybe it is. But you should consider forensic science. I think you might have a knack for it."

"I'll consider that, Ms. Sciuto."

"Call me 'Abby'. And forensics is a much better department than the mailroom is."

- - - - -

Lydia left for the day at 5; as an intern, she could only work 40 hours a week. Abby continued to run tests on the samples Lydia had prepared for her. She wasn't coming up with much useful until she decided to do a DNA test.

_A DNA test on fake hair. I must need a vacation._

When the test results pinged back at her, she fell off her stool, dropping her _Caf-Pow!_ in the process. "Gibbs!" she called up to the squad room. "Gibbs, you've got to come see this!!"

She stared at the monitor. The program couldn't lie.

The DNA on all of the hair samples belonged to Tim McGee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

- - - - -

"Where did they get McGee's hair?!?" Gibbs thundered. _"I want answers!"_

Tony hung up the phone. "Julia Geiger's daughter said the customer supplied it. She always recommends using real hair. Maybe it was from his second year here, when McGee wore his hair really short…?" He looked away at Gibbs' glare.

"Human hair only grows about 1.25 centimeters per month," Ziva remarked. "Given the length of the hair on the wax head…"

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby ran into the squad room. "This just gets hinkier and hinkier! That hair of McGee's—it isn't all McGee's. I mean, and this is really kinda cool, and I've got to wonder why someone is going to the trouble of threatening McGee when he could be making millions in the hair restoration business—"

"_Abby…"_

"Okay, okay. I mean that only the outermost inch, or maybe less than that, is McGee hair. I was stumped by the hair issue—so much of it, and so long—that I turned to Master Mass Spectrometer for help, since he is so wise and all-knowing. If you ask him the right questions. He's like a guru that way. Anyway—" she paused for a breath, "—Master Mass said that most of the length of each hair is artificial. Some sort of duplicate of the keratin protein that makes up human hair. The amino acids found in hair in the greatest numbers are Cysteine, Serine, and Glutamic acid. But these hairs have the proportions switched, and artificially grown and bonded to McGee's hair. It looks like McGee's hair, it feels like McGee's hair, it even smells like—" she took a whiff of the sample in her hand, and sighed with a smile.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Are you saying that these artificial hairs can be grown rapidly? How rapidly?"

"That, I don't know. I couldn't determine when these were created."

"Good work, Abbs. Let us know what else you find out," Gibbs said with a slight smile. Pleased, she left.

Tony looked up from his computer, where he'd been studying a picture of the head. "Boss, here's a thought. The wax head was ordered in January 2006. A photo of McGee was supplied with it. But look at the length of the hair on the wax head. In January 2006 he was still wearing that buzz cut. He didn't let his hair start growing out again until the spring of that year, as I recall. Here his hair is short, though not buzz cut short."

Gibbs searched his memory. "More like his second year here. Around 2004 or 2005."

Ziva hadn't known Tim then, but she followed along. "So…someone has been stalking him even longer than 2006."

"But we really can't tell the hair length from that photo Ms. Geiger had. He's not wearing the swoop cap, but it's still hard to make out."

"Is there another photo that was not shown to us?"

"Call the daughter back," Gibbs directed. "And get a contact number for her mother in South America."

- - - - -

Hours later, Gibbs, Ziva and Tony gathered with Vance in MTAC. On a large plasma screen, the Panama Resident Agent spoke over the legend _Bogot__á__, Colombia_. "As per your request, Director." He smirked a little and moved off-screen.

"I'd first like to lodge a formal protest," said the woman who came into view. Her face echoed her words. "I am a busy woman; my visa to stay here in Colombia is only good for another few months, and I have much work to do."

"We appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Geiger," Vance said smoothly. "We won't keep you long."

"I should hope not. It was bad enough that your man pulled me out of my studio when I was in the middle of a project. What is this all about?"

"The last human wax figure you made. It was used in a crime."

"Good heavens!"

"Your daughter was able to give us only one working picture that you used in making the figure. But due to the detail of the head, we believe you must have had more than one picture to go on. Where are the others?"

"Well, let me think. That was…early 2006, I remember, around my birthday. There was a picture of a man, the subject, in a black jacket. And then there was another picture supplied to me…but the customer took that one back when he picked up the figure. I did insist on keep the other for my files. Customers sometimes have questions after the order is completed."

"Tell me about the other picture."

"Well, there were two people in it…"

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "That's all I remember, sorry. I couldn't even say if the other person was a man or a woman. I only really looked at the subject."

Vance sighed. "Do you suppose you could sketch the, ah, subject as he appeared in the picture?"

"I could try, but…it's been three years. I don't know how much I'll remember."

"Thank you, Ms. Geiger. We're very grateful."

Vance ended the call.

The sketch was faxed in about an hour later. It was Tim, of course, in high detail—Geiger appeared to have a good memory. It was a head-and-upper-torso shot; he wore no cap, again, and wore a trench coat in place of the NCIS jacket. And—most telling—his hair was the length it had been about five years ago.

"This is nuts!" said Tony. "Someone took photos of McGee, sat on them for a couple of years, then commissioned a wax figure, then sat on that for a couple of years? Why?"

"Someone who is patient, who has been waiting for the right moment, who is very methodical…" mused Ziva.

"I don't think that's it," said Gibbs. "If it was, why not have Geiger do the strand-by-strand hair insertion, as she normally would do?"

"What if," said Vance, "the package with the head—or maybe the full body—was originally intended to be sent to NCIS in 2006, right after it was finished? Go chew on that."

"You heard the man," Gibbs said to his team. "Back to theorizing in the squad room."

- - - - -

Intern Lydia Stolt spent another afternoon helping Abby in the lab. She was glad that Abby had asked for her. For one thing, it kept her out of Autopsy—a place Lydia was putting off going to as long as possible. She had a feeling that being a special agent was _not_ her destiny; not if she couldn't stomach dead people.

She tossed her long, brown hair back from her face; wishing she had an elastic band or hair clips to hold it in place. The only thing that was disappointing was that, for the moment, they were off the matter of the wax head. Another team had taken a case involving a kidnapping of a Marine, and Abby was involved in evidence with that.

"Is he cute?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Abby seemed to hear her even over the loud music. "Is _who_ cute? I like talking about cute. Puppies, kitties, guys…take your pick."

"Guys," Lydia said, with a slight blush. "This guy whose head we were looking at earlier."

"Timothy no-middle-initial McGee, and that was _not_ his head, just a good likeness of it. As he looked a couple years ago. And yes, he's cute." She smiled a little.

"Does he work here? Is that how you know him?"

"He's on Gibbs' team. You haven't met him because he's been out sick all week with a cold."

"Will he be back to work soon, do you think?"

Abby knew that Tim was at one of the safe houses, though the team hadn't told her which one. Not that she was really sure how many NCIS had or where they were, anyway. But she didn't say that. "I imagine so," she said. "Why all the interest in our green-eyed head?"

Lydia blushed a bit. "I don't know. All the time looking at that head…I was just wondering what the real man was like."

_Oh ho. A schoolgirl crush?_ _Even unseen? _"He's nice," Abby said. "A nice guy. That's really him in a nutshell."

"Were you and he ever—" Lydia broke off at Abby's cold stare, realizing she'd overstepped a boundary. "Uh, never mind."

_I should never have lab assistants, _Abby thought grumpily.

- - - - -

Tim was feeling a little better that day; his fever was gone and his sore throat was ebbing, leaving him with a runny nose and an endless cough. He was happy enough with the safe house accommodations: the bed was wonderfully large and soft, the house quiet, and the attention by Agent Kirkwood and her partner, Agent Diggs, was first-rate. He could get used to this pampering, easily.

He drifted off to sleep in the late afternoon, but woke when he heard voices outside his door; low and indistinct. "What is it?" he called. "Come in and tell me!"

The door opened and his protective detail looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Tim. We chose a poor place to talk," said Diggs.

"It's nothing, really. Go back to sleep," said Kirkwood.

He could see that she was lying. "Amy, come on. What is it?"

She bit her lip before answering. "A new package was delivered—not here! To HQ."

"Yeah?"

"Tim, it was the…the torso of that wax body. Made to look bloody and torn up."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

- - - - -

"This is an historic day," Tony said with a grimace. "More than half of NCIS is now petrified to open _anything_ that comes in the mail."

He, along with Gibbs, Ziva, Vance, Ducky and Jimmy stood in Autopsy, looking at the large box that contained the frightening wax torso. Abby was nowhere in sight, having retreated to her lab, refusing to look at the object.

"I never realized McGee had such a six-pack," Jimmy mused.

Ducky scowled and reached up to Gibbs-slap his assistant, but stopped at the last moment. "I think the artist took liberties here," he said. "There's no reason to believe that Ms. Geiger knew what Timothy looked like…shirtless."

Gibbs nodded. "Help Abby. See if you can get anything off this. Has it been accumulating dust for the last three years? When was the head severed?"

"My liver probe will be of no use here, I'm afraid," said Ducky. "But we shall do what we can for this…headless, limbless, soulless soul."

"I'll go one step farther," said Vance, pulling out his cell phone. "Whoever's behind this is ratcheting up the threat. I want McGee brought here. This is more of a fortress than the safe house could ever be. I'll have Diggs and Kirkwood bring him in."

Gibbs eyed him. "Has there been a move made against the safe house?"

"No. But I feel uneasy."

Gibbs gave in, and was glad when Ducky spoke up. "You do realize, Director, that you're subjecting all of NCIS to Timothy's cold?" he said lightly.

"We'll put him in one of the suites. He doesn't need to have contact with many people, and he can continue to rest. Besides, having him here where we can talk to him easily may help us solve this faster."

Locking eyes with his team, Gibbs barked, "Find out who McGee put away who is out now! _Someone_ evidently wants revenge."

"But, boss, we already…" Tony began.

"We will check again," said Ziva, and Tony followed her out.

- - - - -

Tony chewed on a pen, listening to Ziva's organized thoughts. "There is no one," she said, "who would meet that qualification. Edward Marks: paroled last year; died a month later. Thomas Roundhill: released two months ago; rearrested on parole violation a week later. Evelyn Croce: released 2007, moved to Italy, arrested and confined there since 2008. George Thumbs, Geoffrey Jones and Devon Walsh: all deceased."

"McGee is a team player," Tony remarked. "He doesn't often claim the collar. Not as much as he should. Do you think we should dig into team captures?"

Ziva sighed. "Do you know how many that would be since 2003?"

"No, and it sounds like I don't want to know. This is a dead end."

"Can you think of any other reason for the time lag between the taking of the pictures, the making of the wax person, and its delivery? It _has_ to be someone who has been confined; who was unable to carry out the whole plan at once."

Tony grinned. "Maybe it's McGee himself. Maybe he's finally taking a well-earned nervous breakdown…"

Ziva wrinkled her nose at him, and said something in Hebrew.

"What was that?" Tony asked. "Your accent got thick all of a sudden. It almost sounded like you were speaking…Hebrew."

She glared. "I said that I wished you would catch McGee's cold, and that you would be sick with it for 100 days."

"Hmmm! I wouldn't mind 100 days off work!" he said, brightening.

"Tony, how much sick leave do you have saved?"

He scowled and turned back to his computer. "We're missing something. It's _gotta_ be an inmate. But what are we missing??

- - - - -

Agents Kirkwood and Diggs trailed Tim into HQ about an hour later. The two protection detail agents were snickering. "Tim rode in the back seat of the car," Diggs explained. "The guards at the gate thought he was so pale that he had to be a dummy. So they didn't ask him for ID."

"Har har," said Tim, and coughed.

When Tim had settled into one of the secretive guest rooms at HQ (there for VIPs who had to stay overnight), Gibbs came in with the faxed sketch. "Do you remember this?"

Tim stared at it. "No; I've never seen it."

"I mean, do you remember when a photo on which this was based was taken?"

"No idea."

"Think, McGee! Put yourself into this picture. Where were you, who were you with, what were you doing and thinking?!?"

"Boss, I don't know! I can't see my face. I don't know how it looks when I'm thinking of…anything at all."

Gibbs stormed out, and returned shortly with Ducky. Ducky looked between the picture and Tim several times. "Smile for me, Timothy," he directed. "Like you're glad to see me."

Ducky turned to Gibbs, and pointed to Tim's smile in the sketch. "You said your artist said there was a second person in the picture; one she couldn't remember. I'd venture that the second person is to Timothy's right, based on his expression. The expression is typical of someone who is with someone they know and trust and like. It could be a family member…"

"My sister was around a lot then," Tim remarked.

"Or a friend, or even a date. I don't know how relevant that is, however…"

"It matters if we're to pinpoint the time this was taken, Duck, and thereby narrow the list of people who might be out to get McGee."

"Ah, yes, I understand now, Jethro. I have an idea. Might I take this drawing down to Abby?"

Gibbs nodded, and Ducky was off.

- - - - -

"You want me to determine who Tim is looking at in this picture? The person who's invisible?" Abby said in disbelief.

"If you could do that, dear girl, we would bottle your powers of deduction. No, something not as profound. I am trusting that the artist has a good memory, as most artists seem to. I believe she must have the angle of Timothy's eyes correct. Can you measure, and, assuming he is looking into the eyes of the person beside him, determine how tall that person is? It might narrow things down."

"I can do that." She scanned the sketch into a computer and ran a few programs. "It looks like our second person is about 5' 9". Does that help?"

"Indeed it does! Thank you, my dear!" He kissed her cheek and headed for the squad room.

- - - - -

"Okay…so the person next to McGee is 5' 9". A lot of people are that height."

"Tony, think! This is someone Timothy feels comfortable with. Someone he can be relaxed around, mostly."

"But I'm 6' 2", Ducky." Tony endured the expected Gibbs slap.

"If you know something, spit it out, Duck. Don't keep us in suspense."

"Very well. When we speak of height, we often take it from a man's perspective. You are 6' 2", Tony, whether you are wearing shoes or not. The shoes men wear don't make an appreciable difference."

"So?"

"But for many women, height is added by shoes. So-called 'high heels'. Gazing at a person who is around 5'9" might be a woman who is really only 5' 7" and wearing 2" heels."

They were all quiet for a moment. "I am 5' 7"," said Ziva. "But it cannot have been me. We have established that this picture was from five or six years ago; before my time at NCIS."

"Not you," said Gibbs, quietly. "There was another woman who was 5' 7"."

"Kate," said Tony immediately.

- - - - -

"That's a leap in judgment," said Abby. "Granted, my findings on the eye measurements are accurate. But how can you be sure that was Kate next to Tim?"

They'd gathered in Tim's suite. It was easier on him than having him change from pajamas and robe into street clothes so he could go to the squad room.

"We can't be sure," said Gibbs. "It's a hunch. But I think it's a solid one. McGee and Todd had a nice relationship, for the most part."

"We didn't have a 'relationship'," Tim said, blushing, but he was ignored.

"Yes, that was kind of how I remember him looking at her," said Abby, perhaps a little sharply.

"Assuming it was Kate, what does it mean?" asked Ziva.

"Kate had more time in as an agent," said Tony. "Our probie was just a…probie then. So Kate got more collars at that time."

"It makes sense," Ducky nodded. "Our mysterious threatener may not have been 'aiming' at Timothy after all. He may have wanted to get back at Kate."

Tony took hold of the drawing. "Look at those goo-goo eyes. If the guy thought that McGeek was in love with Kate, and vice-versa, what better way to scare her than to threaten to dismember her boyfriend?"

"We never even dated!" Tim protested.

"But Kate is dead," said Ziva. "And McGee is safe here. Where is the threat?"

"It could get worse," said Gibbs. "McGee's still alive, so he's still a target. Go check on locked-up people Todd put away. _Today, not tomorrow!"_

Tim took the opportunity of people leaving to crawl back into bed. He felt cold. Of course, the theory, Kate and all, was a long shot, though it was something. But if the theory was true, then he might not be safe outside NCIS until this guy was caught. That was a long time to be looking over one's shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

- - - - -

"Eliminate Rodger Haus from your suspicions. I believe it is Eric Macarthur whom we seek."

"No way, Zee-vah. Haus has a reputation for being obsessed with female LEOs. Kate put him away in early 2002."

"But it is Macarthur who was put away, got out, put away again, etc. in all the right periods. He was out at the right time to take those photos, order the wax figure, and then send it."

"Haus could have done all that, too," Tony said defensively.

"Perhaps, had he not died a month ago."

"Died? Well…"

"Talk to me," Gibbs said, swinging into the squad room.

Ziva transferred her findings onto the plasma screen. "Eric Kenneth Macarthur. No encounters with the law serious enough to keep him out of the Navy until he enlisted. Then, things started getting serious. Suspicions of drug dealing on board; never proven. Brawls, public drunkenness, and so on. Then we get into petty theft and then larceny. That is where Kate Todd accumulated enough evidence for JAG to get a conviction. Then it was in and out of prison. His latest charge was for forgery. This picture is from his interrogation for that larceny." The screen showed a rather dim picture of Macarthur in the Interrogation room, side by side with a picture of Kate. "That new intern—Lydia—looks a bit like Kate, yes?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Maybe, if you squint."

"Got an address on Macarthur?"

"His Virginia driver's license has expired, but the phone company lists the same address as on the last license."

"Go pick him up," Gibbs directed.

- - - - -

"_Macarthur isn't here, boss. The address is his brother's. The brother says he moved out about three weeks ago, shortly after his release. They had a fight, and the brother told him to leave."_ Tony called in.

"No idea as to where he went?"

"_None."_

"All right. Come back in. We'll have to find him another way." Gibbs knew that they might get an employment clue from the states' databases of new hires, but off the top of his head he couldn't remember where that link was. _If only McGee…_ _Nah. Let him sleep off his cold._

- - - - -

Tim, however, was up and pacing in his suite. He could neither sleep nor sit still, and so he hoped that a little pacing would wear him out. _I wish I could be useful somehow…this is Friday; the fifth day that I've been off work…_

It was just as well that there was no computer in the suite. A computer would have been too tempting.

Finally, in frustration, he shaved, got dressed (tiring as that was), and thought hard about going down to the squad room, just for a few minutes, to see what was going on. Then he sat down in the very comfortable armchair and fell asleep instantly.

- - - - -

It was nearly 1 o'clock when Lydia got a chance to go to lunch. Being an unpaid intern, she didn't have a lot of spare cash to blow on lunches and so had brown-bagged it all week, but today she'd decided to treat herself. She'd been told about the Yard food courts, and set off for one. _A burger or wrap or a pizza slice would do the trick,_ she thought.

_I must be nuts to think that I could consider a career in law enforcement. This is so unreal. I should just go to law school like Daddy said I should do._

_But maybe this isn't so bad…NCIS doesn't get wax bodies everyday…_

_This is kind of thrilling. I can't wait to see how it all turns out…_

_And I'd like to meet that cute McGee guy someday…_

- - - - -

"The new hires directory is not updated that quickly," Ziva lamented back at NCIS. "See? Last update was four weeks ago."

"That's Virginia," said Tony. "Maryland last updated two weeks ago, but no hits under his name."

"Is there such a thing as a directory of aliases?" Tony asked. "McGee would know."

"If he had a forgery arrest, that indicates an interest in multiple identities, perhaps," Ziva agreed.

"I'm not getting McGee out of bed to come down and work," Gibbs said. "See what you can do."

Tony raised a pen to his lips as if about to chew on it. "He has no valid driver's license under his name…how's he getting around, unless he now lives in the District or close by? What's he doing? I'm betting that he is using an alias, and has a driver's license—real or fake—under that."

"Changing the subject," said Ziva, "I keep thinking about the wax head's hair. Where did he get McGee's hair?"

"How long was the portion that was McGee's?"

"About three-quarters of an inch, according to Abby," said Gibbs. "Around the length that is cut off on a normal trip to the barber's."

"Ýou think he got the clippings from McGee's trip to the barber?" said Tony. "That's just…gross." He made a face. "I suppose we should talk to the barber, though."

Gibbs shook his head. "I already asked McGee about that. The barber he used back then is dead and that shop closed after a fire. If Macarthur ever worked there or got access, there are no records."

"Macarthur's Navy profile shows him to be meticulous, patient, and detail-oriented," said Tony. "The kind of guy who could make long-range plans."

"But he has never been shown to be violent," Ziva argued.

"First time for everything," said Gibbs. "Are there no other felons in Kate's past that were out at the right time?"

"No," Tony shook his head. "Unless perhaps something from her Secret Service days…"

"But the clue is the link to McGee," Ziva argued. "Unless the criminal was really planning long-range, his or her anger is linked to Kate's time at NCIS, when she was working with McGee. I think Macarthur is our man."

"Keep trying to find him, then," Gibbs order. "Keep trying until you _do_ find him!"

"The shipping company for the, uh, body parts? That's a dead end—no pun intended—boss?"

"Same company, but mailed from two different locations," Gibbs grunted. "He's clever enough to cover his tracks."

"A threatening crook that's doing a good job of hiding," Tony murmured. "What does it all mean? What's the big picture here? Why is he doing all this? That's what I'd like to know."

"Upon whom is he seeking revenge, if that is his motive—Kate, or McGee?" Ziva put in.

"He can't harm Kate now," Tony said softly.

"No, but he _can_ hurt McGee. Or anyone else here that he chooses to act on." Gibbs pulled out his ringing phone and listened. "Okay. Be right there," He turned back to Tony and Ziva. "Another body part has arrived; this one in a small padded envelope through the Post Office. This we may be able to trace."

"What was it?" Tony asked, his mind imagining several horrors.

"A finger," said Gibbs. "A mangled finger."

- - - - -

"Are you feeling less squeamish, Abby?" Gibbs asked as he, Ziva, Tony and Vance gathered in Abby's lab.

"No," she said, "but it's just a finger. I think I can handle that. Maybe. If I don't have to touch it much. You _have_ determined that it's wax and not some real person's finger, haven't you?"

"It's wax, for certain, Abigail," said Ducky, coming in. "Not a bit of humanity in it, so have at it."

"I'd rather determine which post office branch sent it," she grumbled.

"David and DiNozzo will do that," Gibbs said, and his agents left at his motion.

Vance crossed his arms. "He's running out of body parts to send. What will happen when he's sent it all?"

"I hope we get him before then," Gibbs said with a grimace. "In the meantime, we have McGee safe in here."

"Given that Macarthur may be using a false identity, I've told the guards that no visitors get in the building unescorted. Anyone with business above the first floor, including in the squad room, has to be approved by management as well."

"Yeah…that's probably for the best," Gibbs said, while hating the security clampdown.

- - - - -

"McGee? You awake?" Gibbs called softly, opening the door to the suite.

Tim tossed his head. "I guess I am now."

"Why are you dressed? Got a date?" Gibbs asked.

"No, I…I was going to go down to the squad room to see what was going on. And I guess I sat down, and…"

"I'll brief you," Gibbs offered, and took the other chair. "Does that ring any more bells with you?" he asked at the end.

Tim looked morose. "I remember the Macarthur case, sort of. Not well, though."

"You haven't heard anything about him since then?"

"Nothing. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep your cold germs to yourself. Kirkwood and Diggs are already sniffling."

"Sorry."

- - - - -

Ducky summoned Gibbs to Autopsy. "I can give you information now on the torso, Jethro. It was shot three times with a .44, according to Abby. But that's not all of it. There are signs of burns—by fire and chemicals, and severe thrashing mimicking beatings. Colored material was added to simulate blood; other colorings to mimic brushings."

"Why go to all that trouble on an object that can't feel pain?"

"The pain is meant to be felt by the viewers: us. The profile I'm creating is of a man so vengeful that his hatred wants to create the maximum amount of suffering. If he is indeed one of Caitlin's collars, then he has high hopes of breaking her by 'threatening' her supposed 'lover', Timothy."

"But it's all just for show. It's a wax dummy."

"Not entirely all for show. This is a build-up…a build-up for when he intends to strike, and do the real thing."

Gibbs felt a chill. "McGee may be our guest here for a very long time, then."

"I would not complain overly, were I he. The suites are very nice, from what I've seen. If NCIS brings him food and does his laundry, he has no need to leave for a long time," he added with a smile.

Gibbs didn't return the smile. "I've been through situations like this. Long-term ones. You think you have everything under control, and then there's one tiny slip-up…"

"Well," Ducky cleared his throat. "Well, we just have to make sure that that does not happen."

- - - - -

Ziva and Tony returned shortly. "The finger package was mailed yesterday from the post office in Georgetown," Ziva reported. "We have the security tape. We will go through it now."

"The mailing time was 10:04 a.m.," Tony added. "That should be near the start of the tape…"

The grainy color picture ran by on the plasma monitor until Tony halted it and backed up. "10:00 on the dot. And…there's our boy." Unmistakably, the beefy man standing at the service counter was Macarthur.

"The return address on the package is false, as you know," said Ziva. "The clerk did not notice that."

"But—" Tony said gleefully, "he did use a debit card to pay for it."

"Trace it. Trace all its recent transactions," said Gibbs. _We're getting close. I hope we close in on him before he closes in on us..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

- - - - -

"The nature of your visit to the Navy Yard, sir?"

"I'm here to visit the Navy Museum. I'm ex-Navy, myself. Always wanted to see it. Here's the letter confirming my authorization to visit it, and I have a parking permit."

The young E-1 at the O Street gate scanned the letter, and quickly handed it back. "Thank you, sir. Can I see your driver's license?"

"Of course, sailor."

"Thanks, Mr. Costello. You can park anywhere in the main lot. Enjoy your visit."

He drove in with a smile, proud of his forgery work.

After finding an unobtrusive parking spot, Costello/Macarthur took a small container, a lunch cooler, out of the car, and then locked it. He knew he might have quite a wait, so he came prepared. He strolled into Willard Park, gave the _Barry_ a passing glance, and then settled down at a bench where he could appear to read a newspaper while keeping an eye on the front entrance of NCIS.

- - - - -

Abby sent Lydia on an errand in mid-afternoon, mostly to get her out of her hair. _I don't need or like assistants. Nope._ It was to get some random small supplies a couple blocks away. Lydia would be gone for at least half an hour, and that could only be good.

Not that the girl wasn't capable…she was, mostly, for someone inexperienced with lab work. But Abby needed her space, and Lydia was often just in the way. Abby had already dropped not-too-subtle hints with the Director that maybe Intel could use Lydia's help? _I'll work with her until the end of the day, and then that's it._

"Abbs."

"Gibbs!" She'd been so lost in thought that he'd actually surprised her, for once.

"Got anything more on the finger?"

" 'The fickle finger of fate'. No. It can't have been pointing toward anything. It doesn't bear any telltale marks, other than being roughed up and 'bloodied'. No ring line. No foreign substances. The fingernail is a simple plastic. But otherwise, it's pretty normal, for a beeswax threatening finger. Can I go compare it to Tim's?"

"No."

"Aw…Gibbs, if you're looking for answers, you're not going to find any more on these wax body parts."

He sighed. "I was beginning to suspect that. They're just symbolic."

"How is Tim taking it?"

"Okay, I suppose. He's not in any danger as long as he's in here. He just needs to get over that cold."

- - - - -

Costello/Macarthur waited. He was a patient man. He'd had good lawyers, who'd help secure early releases from incarceration for him, but even so, his time in prison had been spent being patient.

His day would come, he'd known. He'd get his revenge upon that female agent who'd put him away for the first time. He would bring pain to her—unbearable pain.

He didn't even know her name, although he must have heard it at least once. Remembering names was not a talent of his. Being meticulous was. So what if it had taken him years to get to this point? When everything fell into place, it would all be worth it.

The young woman came walking from the east, where Sicard Street curved. Macarthur stiffened. Yes, it was her. He hadn't forgotten that face in all that brown hair. Carefully folding his newspaper and then tucking it under his lunch container, which he then left on the ground, he stood up and crossed the street, meeting her at the corner of Sicard and Paulding. "You!" he said.

Her brown eyes turned to him, curious, but with no recognition. "I'm sorry; do I know you?" she asked politely.

"You should, Ms. Agent. You sent me away for 5-10, though I only served 25 months of that," he laughed bitterly.

Fear showed on her face. "I—think you have me confused with someone else. I'm not an agent."

"Don't play innocent with me, because it won't work!" Macarthur grabbed her, pinning an arm behind her, and with another arm, drew out a gun. "Now, I'm going to get revenge. And I will enjoy it. _You_ won't enjoy it at all."

Lydia screamed; a powerful scream. Macarthur only laughed. "Go ahead; scream. The bigger audience for this, the better."

- - - - -

Tim had stretched out on the bed, still clothed, but couldn't sleep. He rose, put his shoes back on, and made it to the elevator and the squad room.

"Hey, Probie!" Tony greeted him cheerfully. "Going on a date?"

"Why does everyone ask that?" Tim grumbled mildly.

"You shaved, McGee," Ziva remarked, sounding mildly disappointed.

"What was that?!?"

"Someone screaming—"

Agents ran for the stairs; a faster exit route than the elevator. "McGee! _You stay in here!!"_ Gibbs ordered, meeting his eyes, before running out.

- - - - -

Faces appeared in windows at the NCIS building, as Lydia screamed again and again. Quickly agents poured out of the building, guns in hand, stopping a fair distance from Macarthur and Lydia. A man spoke up, in a calm, but loud voice. "Listen, whatever issues you have, I'm sure we can help resolve them. Why don't you—"

"_Shut up, Negotiator Man!"_ Macarthur bellowed. "I'm not reasoning with anyone. I'll tell you what you'll do. You'll send out her boyfriend, right here, right now!"

Lydia stopped struggling for a moment, and turned her head to see Macarthur's face. "But I don't have a boy—"

"Liar! You shut up, too," he snapped, turning her arm painfully, and readdressed the crowd. "Send out her boyfriend now, or she gets it right here! And in case you think that this gun is all I have, I'll tell you now, under my jacket, I'm wired with explosives. So don't even think of a 'rescue'!"

_"Macarthur!"_ Gibbs called, as he slowly worked his way to the front of the crowd. "What you're thinking won't happen. That woman is not who you think she is."

"_Liar!_ I know the agent who put me away. And she's going to be sorry. She's going to suffer. Now, _bring her boyfriend out!!!"_

"I'm here," Tim called, elbowing his way to the front. "What do you want, Macarthur?"

"McGee! Get back inside _now!_ That's an _order!"_ Gibbs growled, but Tim was beyond his reach.

Ignoring him, Tim stepped out in front of the other agents. "Let Agent Todd go, Macarthur," Tim said, forcing strength into his hoarse voice. "You've got a beef with me, then let's you and I settle it."

Macarthur smiled cruelly. "That's it, boyfriend. You come over here. Slow-like. But first, put down any guns you're carrying."

"I'm not armed," Tim said, walking toward Macarthur slowly, his hands raised. Well, there was the ever-present knife strapped to his leg, but he wasn't going to mention that.

"Okay, hold it there," said Macarthur when Tim was about 10 feet away. He then stuck the gun he was carrying into Lydia's free hand, jamming it in there, and then swiftly grabbing another from a holster. "All right, Agent," he said to her, "you took away years of my freedom. Now I'm going to have you take away something dear to you. Shoot him."

"No! No! I can't! You're mistaken!" she cried, and tried to pull away.

He was much stronger. "Do it, and do it now! _Kill your boyfriend, or I'll kill you, and then him!"_

Tim tensed, waiting for the end. There was no way that he could see out of this. He'd had hopes of somehow rescuing the young woman, who he was assumed was the intern, but…

Macarthur's big hand, still holding a gun, closed over Lydia's and made her aim the gun at him, and pull back on the trigger…

And then, with the crack of one perfect shot, Macarthur fell down, dead.

Gibbs had lost none of his sniper skills.

- - - - -

Lydia was the first one to meet the defusing counselor. Tim was rather used to this sort of thing, after six years on the job, and was happy to wait for his turn to come up later.

Tony couldn't resist a little teasing. "So, you now have a girlfriend in our Lydia? She's like 10 years younger than you, Probie."

Tim smiled a bit. "Not my girlfriend, and I haven't even met her."

"If she stays on to complete her internship, she has a strong nature," Ziva observed.

"It all made sense when I thought about it," Tim went on. "Macarthur plotting his revenge over the years. It never occurred to him that Kate might not still be here. And the threats on my 'body' would only work if he was trying to get back at Kate. Through me. I think I did what I did as much for Kate as for Lydia."

Gibbs came back into the squad room, his face purple. "McGee! My office!"

Once they were inside the elevator, Gibbs pounded the _stop_ button with ferocity. "You disobeyed a direct order!"

"Yeah, boss, but—"

"_A direct order, McGee!_ You could have gotten killed. It was a miracle that you weren't."

Tim was silent. He knew he'd disobeyed, but it had seemed like the right thing to do then…

"We don't need dead heroes. This is not the first time I've told you this, McGee. This time, you're getting an official reprimand and it will go in your file."

_Ouch. There goes this year's award bonus…_

"Do I make myself clear, McGee?!?"

"Yes, boss."

"Fine." Gibbs restarted the elevator. "Go back to bed. Once we're sure that Macarthur worked alone, you can go home."

- - - - -

"What will happen to the beeswax body parts, Director?"

Vance looked over Ziva's shoulder at the report she was typing. "They'll stay in evidence lock-up. Where else?"

Ziva caught Tony's eye, and very slightly shook her head at his mischievous gleam. He went back to work. "I just hope…there are not more to come."

"Well, now that we know Macarthur's alias, find where he was staying and let's put an end to this."

"Yes, Director." "On it, Director."

- - - - -

Tim drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Kate…and what might have been…

-END-


End file.
